I've penned countless letters to you, some filled with ungratefulness, others singing your praises. More often than not, I was ungrateful, and for that, I apologize. I blamed you for my misfortunes, but now I see: you are not the problem; I am. My mind is the trouble I can't flee.

This letter is to tell you I'm tired. My only motivation to keep living is you. If you could please take me far away from this world, or at least give me permission to leave. I want to end things so badly, to vanish into the night.

I hate every inch of myself, my hair, my face, my body, my mind, my anxiety, and my uncontrollable outbursts. I've tried to love myself, but it's hard when I look in the mirror and find a thousand and one reasons to hate my existence. It hurts that this isn't just in my head; my body is genuinely horrible. Everyone, even my family, tells me l'm a terrible person. They call me a caterpillar that destroys everything, and maybe I am, just a creature causing strife.

I've tried to prove I'm better, but they don't see it. So l've accepted the person they say I am. I have no reason to live, and I wish I could just end it all right now. I hate my being, my very core. I want to go away and feel this pain no more.

Sincerely,
Marvel.
© unknown